The path to the Marrowbone house feels familiar under your feet—worn down by years of visits, of quiet afternoons that somehow always stretched longer than planned.

You remember how it started. Not with anything dramatic—just Allie, bright and talkative as ever, dragging you along one afternoon and introducing you to Jack like it was nothing. And somehow… it wasn’t nothing. It became this.

The house. The siblings. Jane.

She opens the door before you can knock twice.

There’s that same softness about her—loose pale hair, tired eyes that still warm the moment they land on you.

“Jack’s not here,” she says gently. “He went out for the day… but you can stay, if you want.”

You do.

The hours pass easily.

A board game sprawled across the table, Billy quietly determined to win, Sam laughing at the wrong moments, Jane watching more than playing. The room feels lighter when she smiles—and she does, more than usual.

At some point, Sam curls against her side, blinking slower and slower until sleep wins. Billy takes him upstairs without much fuss, leaving the two of you alone in the dim, quiet room.

The silence settles in—not uncomfortable, just… present.

Jane gathers the pieces absentmindedly, aligning them with careful fingers. You notice how she always does that—fixing small things, like it keeps everything else from slipping.

She glances at you, hesitates for just a second.

“…It’s nicer when you’re here.”

It’s quiet, almost like she didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Outside, the wind brushes faintly against the old house. Inside, she lingers a moment longer than usual—like she’s holding onto something fragile, and you just stepped into it.